


Fate Irreversibly

by RedPandaPool



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), X-Force (Comics)
Genre: Other, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPandaPool/pseuds/RedPandaPool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl with a goal and an aimless mercenary meet in a dingy bar.<br/>Neither would like to call it fate, so they agree to call it an interesting coincidence.</p><p>They should have known better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

There she sits, helpless and crying, and he can't help it, he slouches over to her.

"Hey, what's up? Anything I can help you with?" he asks smoothly, sliding into the seat opposite of her.

She glances up behind her heavy red bangs and he's stung by the sharpness in her eyes. Roaming over him critically, kind of familiar that way.  
He can't put the finger on it, a distant echo of a memory which probably went down the drain like all those other ones. 

But he's letting his mind drifting away from the situation. It's so easy now, with his body forcibly bound to life and no will to live. 

It's her gaze that jerks him back to reality, focused on him only and analyzing, peeling away the layers, until he's feeling naked, exposed. His fingers go to his mask almost out of reflex, but yeah, still down and secure. But he's on guard now, squinting his eyes at her. 

_Helpless, my ass._ Her face is still tear-streaked, but there's a fire and steely determination in her eyes.  
 _Huh-- Oh, she thinks I'm her enemy._ The revelation comes late, but it lets him reexamine the situation. Maybe approaching a crying girl in a dingy bar past curfew - never mind how he looks, the swords and the grenades and the guns ---

"Hey, uh, eheh, sorry!" He waves his hands around in a fashion, he hopes, that projects harmlessness and good-will. Hmm, maybe dropping the gun in his right hand might be a good idea as well, as, oh, erm---

"Is this a gun you're pointing at my head there or are you just... uh... particular about personal boundaries?"

"Name."

"What?"

"Your name. What you want from me. 10 secs max or I'm blasting your brain out. Not that it would make a difference.

This seems all too familiar as well, but when a cute little girl is asking you nicely with a gun pointed to your head, you usually go with whatever she wants from you. He prays it doesn't involve any kind of sexual favors, because as much as he's generally fond of those, he's definitely not fond of those involving kids, because that's all kind of wron--

Uh, shit, she's got her finger tightening on the trigger. This probably means his 10 seconds are over and since he doesn't want to traumatize the poor kid with brain bits blown all around---

"Name'sWadeWilsonbuttheyalsocallmetheMercwiththeMoutha.k.a.TheDegeneratingRenegatenandIreallyreallydidn'tno--don'tmeanyouanyharm!"

Her face twists into a grimace of disbelieve. "What?"

"Hey, you don't believe me? I even got a batch for rescuing kittens from a tree --!"

"What? No. I just didn't understand a single word you just said."

"Oh."

"..."

"My 10 seconds are over, right? Do I still get a second chance? First impressions are important after all. So-- uh, pretty please?" 

He tries to flutter his nonexistent eyelashes for extra effect, but she just carelessly waves her gun.  
There's a strange ease to how she handles the weapon and he suspects she probably won't be half as scared as he'd expected when blowing out his brain. Eventually. Ah, but wait, there was something about a second chance...?

"Whatever. Go on."

"Thank you so much, my fair lady. You have no idea what a pain it is to scratch your own brain from the wall-- But I digress, you asked after yours truly, sitting here in all his natural glory.  
Once upon a time, there was this very handsome and skilled mercenary named Wade Wilson, who, in a twisted turn of fate, got diagnosed with untreatable cancer. Then, leaving his love and former life behind, he--"

The gun's back against his forehead.

"I did not ask for your whole backstory. I'm only interested in who and what I'm dealing here with. If you're playing for time, don't push your luck."

Her tone is back to icy and he has to gulp. It's been quite some time someone called him out like this. He decides to quit playing and get back to business. After all, it had been the hunch of a work opportunity that had him approach her in the first place.

"Wade Wilson. Nice to make your acquaintance. I'm a mercenary, occasionally dipping my toes into good guys' business, but all in all I'm a sword for hire. To whoever needs my help and got the money. Oh, and I'm known to some people as Deadpool."

Her distinctly - and shamefully - unimpressed face lights up at his last words. There's a hint of recognition, which makes his heart swell with pride. Huh, who would have guessed he's famous with teenage girls nowadays.  
Just as he begins to puffs out his chest and sit a little straighter, she starts to smirk.

"Huh, you actually might be able to help me. My name's Hope. Hope Summers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there~
> 
> I'm very open for all kinds of constructive criticism, may it be formatting, grammar, story! If anyone wants to beta this potential beast, please drop me a line. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Derailment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, pretty much nothing's going according to... fate.  
> Hints are given, clues received, but Deadpool remains blissfully unaware.

"Hope Summers?"

"So, huh, a scion of the wide and vastly Summers tree, then", Deadpool acknowledges and leans forward, his chin resting comfortably on his clasped hands. He doesn't seem very impressed, but at least he's modestly interested.

"Which one are you exactly? Another clone of Jean? _Another_ formerly unknown offspring of Scott? Some distant relative from the future to warn us about the great dangers that await us?" He hesitates after that, as if his mind needs a moment to catch up with his words. Then, a look of pure terror crosses over his facial features under the mask.  
"Oh, no, not that one again, please, no! I've heard enough of that for a lifetime!"

While Deadpool's busy shaking his head and covering his ears in mock desperation and mumbling something about bad memories with someone named Priscilla, Hope begins to question the wisdom of revealing her name to him.  
But as... strange... as he seemed, her instincts told her to trust him. After all, her dad had mentioned him several times, albeit in only a very curt fashion. Although for him, _that_ was already more than she got to know about most other people in his life from before the time he took her in and ran away to the future. So, if nothing else, Deadpool somehow seemed _important_.  
And just as fate had suggested, she'd found him in this bar. Or he had found her. She wasn't sure yet if there hadn't been any kind of unseen force at work. Knowing Nathan Summers, even an unseen force could be perfectly alive and breathing, so there wasn't necessarily a higher force or entity involved. And this meeting reeked too much of a perfect coincidence to be one for real. 

Deadpool's still engaging in all kinds of strange antics when she finally decides to offer him a hint.  
"Well, technically I'm only adopted, but my dad's Nathan Summers. You might have heard of him."

It's almost comical, the way Deadpool freezes immediately, his hands still stuck to his ears, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping underneath the cloth. 

"No. Way. No freaking way. Nonononono." He's back to squinting his eyes, but now he's also got one finger pointing at her in a honestly pretty rude fashion. 

"No, that can't be. No, no. You can't fool me. Because, for a fact, I know you've just been a cute little bundle of joy four years ago and even your freakish Summers DNA--- which you've got or maybe no, huh, well, nevermind --- fact is, you can't be all grown up in this short time. I might be stupid, but I'm not duuuuumb. And I can count at least all the fingers on both my hands. Don't laugh, in a business like mine, it's important to take count of your body parts at any given time, because--- you really, really don't want to know what happens if you lose track of them and some mad scientist puts them together and then---."

"Wait, what was my point again?" He furrows his brow while Hope tries to remember what they were talking about, not that it's particularly easy with her head swimming. She's kind of hoping he doesn't have any mutant abilities she could accidently copy or at least not an ability like "talk your enemy to the grave". She's not particularly keen on the title of "mutant chatterbox".

"Ah, yes!" Apparently his memory is serving better than hers, because he's remembered the actual topic of their conversation.

"Fact is, you can't be that cute little thing from four years ago, because you're all grown up and... uh... grown..." He's flapping his hands and gesturing wildly. Oh, ok, right, now he's cupping his hands in front of his upper body. Not that she could have missed the obvious ogling. Great now, her dad's maybe only friend is a pervert. 

"Eyes up here." She underlines her words with a pointed gesture of her own. His eyes follow her fingers and she stores that knowledge in the back of her mind. Her dad always taught her to watch both friend and enemy closely to anticipate their every movement. This one seems like a pretty easy one to track and steer. 

Somehow, Hope can't imagine her dad fighting side by side with him. Deadpool seems nothing like him. Actually, he doesn't even seem like a fighter at all. Rather like a guy on drugs donning a suit to play hero.  
She sighs. For a tiny moment there, she'd had actual hope he would have been able to help her. 

As it is, she stands, putting the money for her drink down on the table - a soda, because even if he's not around she can still hear her father lecture about always making sure to have a clear head when dealing with business. Despite how much she always wanted to defy him - just once - by doing all those stupid things teenagers of this time like to do, old habits die hard. He had made sure that she would never forget them, trained her so that they became deeply ingrained, like second nature. His voice in her head is not as much her conscience, but _survival instinct_.

It's moments like these, when she can picture him going on and on about the rules in her head, that the sadness suddenly hits her. While he was still around, she would have rolled her eyes at him and tried to weasel out of the lecture some way. Now, it's a strange comfort to have at least this much. It's the one thing she could always trust and believe in and the one thing that stayed with her. 

She looks at Deadpool, who's finally calmed down and is staring at her in surprise.  
"Sorry. It's nice to have met you at least, but I don't think you'll be able to help me after all."

With that, she leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is how our little tale ends... or not.  
> Stay tuned and thank you for reading!  
> \---
> 
> Still in desperate search for a beta reader!


	3. On Track

"Uh hey, wait up! Heyyyyyy~ yes, you, cute little girl with the flaming red hair over there!"

He's been following her around at least three blocks by now, but she still refuses to stop.  
People are starting to look at him strangely.  
As enjoyable as it is - it's been a while since he last catcalled after a girl - maybe he should end their game of cat and mouse rather sooner than later.  
Well, how to go about catching human-shaped mice then? Cheese might not do the trick, but-- what about food? Yeah, food, that's the idea! Well, who could resist crispy-hot Tacos oozing with delicious juices and their heavenly smell? If he can't, scrawny little teenage girls might not either. 

Mind made up, Wade executes the next step of his masterful plan: He calls Weasel.  
"Hey, what's up, Weaz! I need a favour por favore, pronto, pronto, if possible!"  
"---"  
"What do you mean, it's a bad time for you right now?"  
"---"  
"I'm on the heels of a hot redhead who's enemy-zoned me and I need you to track her!"  
"---"  
"What do you mean, 'leave Black Widow' alone?"  
"---"  
"No. --No, I didn't. --Yes, I DO still remember the last time she shot me with one of her stingy things. --- Yes, YES, I do remember in very vivid and ugly details WHERE she shot me after all and how much it hurt and how much you had to deal with my whining while you pulled the needles out of my di--"

He casts a frantic look around him, but, ah, there she is. He can still spot her a few corners ahead. Better to hurry then. 

"Weaz, Weaaaaz. Can you cut it short? I really need you to do me this favor: Hack into the security systems around here, all the cameras, the whole nine yards and try to keep track of her. She's kinda hard to miss: red hair, big guns, and no, no I don't mean it like THIS, I mean _real_ guns, like Cable-sized guns. You know the kind. --- No. No, not THOSE kind of guns either! I still mean REAL guns! And wait, when did you get to see Cable's ---"

But there's a Taco stand, so he has to make his move now or never.

"Listen, Weaz, keep track of her and I'll pay you back. In Tacos maybe?" He doesn't really wait for Weasel's answer and hangs up. They're pals, so it's alright. Maybe. Whatever. He'll deal with it later.  
He drops his order, waits for the Tacos (hey, he's got kinda hungry himself by now) and checks her position on the nifty little gadget Weasel built for him last time.  
Wade had called it a smartphone and Weasel had kinda scoffed at him for that. _Not a smartphone, but rather a very smart mobile micro computer,_ he had called it, but Deadpool had already labeled it the modern Swiss army knife tool thingy by then. SAKTT.  
Hmm, maybe not. What about TASK: The all-in-one super knife! -- Well, knife might the only thing it's not; at least Wade hasn't tried to use it to cut people yet. 

But it can track. As well as stream all the relevant security tapes Weasel's got his hands on.  
Wade absentmindedly pays for his Tacos, grabs them and heads in the direction Hope seems to have turned for good. If he's not completely wrong, he can kinda guess where she's headed and cut her off before she makes it there. Wouldn't want to involve those guys now, would we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and the short update!
> 
> Please let me know if you've got any questions or something is confusing.  
> Comments and any offer to beta-read are very much appreciated <3 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
